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I’m looking forward to it.

We should meet up—no, I deleted that without sending it.

The text messages were fine at a distance. I’d ruin it by trying to make it personal. We were just two skaters who happened to have slept together multiple times. This was professional banter. No personal stuff. The amazing sex was in the past. If I tried to make it personal, he’d run for the hills, and honestly, I liked texting him again. Liked having him in my ear, even if it was at a distance.

I’d missed Ren Hasegawa. Missed his dour face, and the one-line brutal commentary he delivered like a cracking whip, and those smiles you had to work damn had to pull out of him. Missed his hands on me while dancing, and in between the sheets—god, I missed that the most, and we’d barely done anything, just gotten off a few times, slept together naked once. It had probably been the most genuinely passionate relationship I’d had. I’d wanted more, so much more, but that wasn’t him. Probably wouldn’t ever be him. Which was a damn shame, because the man was fucking fine and really needed some gay loving to crack open his reserved and restrained barriers. That fire was in him, but even I had only seen a few of its sparks.

None of that mattered.

Professional distance. Those were the words I needed to keep in mind.

Just two ice dancers on opposite teams.

I had the Olympics coming up, and this time I was stronger, better, more refined. This time it would be a fair battle between me and Hasegawa. I could absolutely beat him, and he knew it.

Bring it on.

THREE

REN

“You were good on the ice today. Just a few minor corrections,” Tamsyn said as we left the Nottingham rink, bags slung over our shoulders.

I’d grown used to Tamsyn’s critical feedback after every training session. As my dance partner with Team GB, I’d come to appreciate her frankness. Especially as she was often right. We hadn’t started out on such friendly terms, though.

Sean, the GB coach, had somehow wrestled both our personalities into a shape that fit together. I still wasn’t entirely sure how. Several calls from Dylan had likely helped. But on the ice, Tamsyn and I clicked. Her technical skills were brilliant and easily matched mine, and that was exactly what we needed to win the gold in Japan.

“Where are you heading next?” she asked, as we stopped outside on the pavement.

She wore her dark hair in a tight braid. Elegant was a good word for Tamsyn Ward. She’d been a skater since her sixth birthday, multiple medal winner in the international circuit, but had taken early retirement four years ago after an injury. The Olympics had called her back.

I sighed and looked up at Nottingham’s gray sky.

“Welfare check,” I said, nodding toward the austere-looking community building opposite the ice rink. Much of the team’s admin happened in that building, including the routine welfare manager appointments all athletes had to attend, and few enjoyed.

She winced. “Well, good luck with that. Do you want to join us in the bar later for a meal?”

Us meant Tamsyn and the six others on the UK team. I didn’t spend every day with them, but I knew them as colleagues. Once we left for Japan, we’d spend most days together, though. I was going to have to get used to socializing.

“C’mon, Ren.” Tamsyn smiled and arched a dark eyebrow. “You can be friendly. It won’t kill you.”

“I may drop by,” I conceded.

“Good. Make sure you do. You can’t escape us in Japan, you know.”

I laughed and shrugged off the joke. “You may be sick of me by then.”

“See you later.” She headed for the gym, while I crossed the street toward the office building.

Gabby Roper’s office was a clean and functional third-floor room. She’d added a potted plant the first week, to soften the gray walls and carpet. The poor plant had drooped, and during our last appointment she’d admitted she was better at caring for people than plants.

“So, Ren . . . how are you?” She wore her blonde hair up, and sat with her legs folded, hands over her knee, all her attention pinned on me.

“Good, good.” I got comfortable in the low armchair and let my gaze wander toward the windows.

“How has your week been?”

“Busy.”